


called me levi - [attack on titan]

by princelyella



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Attack on Titan AU, Modern AU, Teen Parent AU, and it’s not finished, aot - Freeform, eren doesn’t have a mom, eren is a great son, i hate doing a million tags yet here i am asdfirknjbl, it’s not super great, let me know if you want me to though, levi is a great dad, snk, teen dad levi, teen parents, this is a one-shot i just wanted to publish, this isn’t a shippy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 13:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15487179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princelyella/pseuds/princelyella
Summary: Levi is 30, a single father to his 15-year old son. Outcasted when he was born, Levi has since dedicated his life to raising an amazing young man. But, there’s one thing that will always keep the two of them from being the perfect family. Eren knows absolutely nothing about his mother, aside from the fact that she’s dead. And he’s willing to go to great lengths to find out what happened to her.





	called me levi - [attack on titan]

_ I sighed, throwing my body onto the uncomfortable couch, the baby in my arms. He was hyper at the moment, giggling at the fact that I was carrying him into the living room and lifting him as the two of us fell. He smiled, reaching out his arm and trying to move forward across my chest, but falling face first, right back where he started. I wanted to smile back, but I haven't been able to bring myself for the past 12 hours. I placed him in a lying position, and wrapped both my arms around him. I brushed his hair back and stared into his bright eyes. _

_     “You know, when I was just older than you, kid, I didn't think that I'd be 16 with my one-year-old son sitting with me. And not once did I think that'd I'd be telling him this,” I took another large breath inwards, holding it inside my chest for a few moments as he continued to try to play with me. “Listen, your mom and I weren't very good people. We were both 15 when she gave birth to you. When we found out that the two of us were having a baby, we promised that we would take care of you, no matter what. Both of us were kicked out by our parents when we broke the news, and that's how we ended up in the crap apartment. It was decided she would drop out and take care of you, and I would continue to attend school and work for the family. And for a while, it was working. We thought we’d be able to handle it, but your mother, she-she broke. Said she couldn't handle it. And now? Now?” I brush his hair back once more. The poor child didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve me. He deserved better. He deserved everything that I couldn't provide for him. But I loved him nonetheless. “Yesterday, she committed suicide. Right there in that kitchen, after we had just gotten in a fight. And I know you're going to want your mother with you sometimes, but I can't give that to you. She's gone, and we can't bring her back. I know you won't understand it now, but you'll have to come around to understanding that it's only you and me now,” I swallow the lump in my throat and blink rapidly to prevent the tears welling in my eyes from falling down my face. “But I love you, Eren. And I'm going to be the best damn father you can ask for.” _

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

     “Dad!” I call, running down the stairs, throwing my jacket over my other arm. “Where are you? We're late!” Again, there wasn't a response. I knew he was probably asleep, considering he worked his head off last night, and if he still was I wasn't about to ask him to take me to school. His job is what makes room for all our needs, and there's not possibly enough money in the budget for any wants. I grabbed a pencil and paper, wrote a note that explained I was taking the bus, and slid it under his door. His alarm clock was still beeping, but I could hear faint snoring noises underneath them. There wasn't possibly enough time for breakfast before the bus arrived, so I simply stuck a piece of bread in my mouth and ran out of the building. 

     Thankfully, the bus was a few minutes late, but that also meant a few friends and I would have to stand out in the cold and snow. And of course, living in the sketchy area I did, the city didn't have enough money to hire anybody to clear it out, so I was stuck in the ankle deep snow, shivering in the white flurries that fell around me. 

     It wasn't long until one of my good friends, Connie, ran out, seemingly just as cold as I was. He was in a situation just as bad as I was–his dad laid off, his mom was a drug addict–at the very least, child care services would be sending him to live with his aunt in the next month, but he has to transfer schools.

    “Oh, hey, Eren. Doesn't your dad usually take you to school?” He asked, his breathing erratic. I knew he had probably run down all those flights of stairs in our building, considering the bus was already supposed to be here. 

     I sigh, the breath I had just push out of my lungs visible just above the scarf tied tightly around my neck. “Yeah, but he did a lot of working last night, so he was still sleeping. I don't blame him. His job is really rough for a man his age. He's just, so young,” I reply absentmindedly, my actual thoughts gathered in the grey sky towering over me. In reality, it looked disgusting, how in the bitter and cold months we were presented with an always blank sky. But every dark cloud has a silver lining, and that's what the plain sky is made up of.

    “That's right, your parents were teenagers when they had you. What about your mom? How old is she?” He asked. I was honestly a little surprised, but he had every right to assume that she was still living in the apartment that I had just walked out of. I never talked about her, because I never really thought about her. I didn't know what I was supposed to think, considering I didn't know the slightest about her.

    “She'd be 30, same age as my dad.”

    “Hold on, she'd be? What do you mean?”

    “Well, I'm using past tense words because she's no longer with us. In technical terms, she’s dead now. Been dead since I was about 1 is what my dad says, I think. He says she got really sick and passed away in a nearby hospital, in and out of a medically-critical state since I was born. The only issue with that tale is that I remember my mom being around considerably more than my dad was when I was a child, so there’s no way she'd ever be in the hospital. It doesn't really bother me, though. I never knew her.”

    “Oh, I'm sorry for asking,” He muttered into the puffy jacket that hugged his figure. 

    Come to think of it, I really didn't know anything about my mother. I don't know her name, what she looked like, or if how she died was a lie. Whenever I brought her up, my dad was always in a rush to change the subject. He didn't even have any photos of her. I didn't know why, all my life I just assumed talking about her beat him up, her being the mother of his child and all. But I think at this age that I'd be able to handle the mention of my mother. Not even that, I deserve to. She is one of the few things that is rightfully mine, and I had no connection to her. All I know is that my last name is her’s, since my parents weren't technically married. My dad, his last name is different from mine.

    “No, no, it's fine. It doesn't really bother me to talk about her, since I didn't ever know her. Don't worry about it, OK?”

 

\---------------

 

    “Hey, dad! You home?” I call, walking into my apartment through the rusted door that locked us from the rest of the world.

    “Yes, I told the employees I was sick today, so I didn't have to go to work. I'm in the living room if you need me,” he replied, sheepishly. I could tell that he overworked himself at that tea shop last night, and that somebody like him needs their sleep. Not really for a reason that they're really rude in the mornings when sleep deprived, but also because sleep is almost a luxury for him. Because he works during the day, he has to tend to the house and do simple things like shop during the night. Not only that, but both of us have severe insomnia, to the point where something as small as a 2-hour nap was like a blessing.

    I threw my jacket and bag onto the coat rack right by the door and entered the living room area to see him on the beat up loveseat, his feet propped up on the edge. His hands were folded and placed motionlessly on his chest, his eyes only about a fourth of the way open, and his hair messily in his face. Tied in with the dark shade of it and his pale skin, he almost looked dead. However, I know that he often gives off that impression to people, even when he's clearly awake.

    “I just, I just have a question is all,” I say, sitting on the chair parallel to him. I didn't maintain the eye contact I usually did. Today, he didn't feel like my dad. I felt afraid of him, just as everybody else did at first glance. I felt like the small child that would see him on the street; a strange man, pale, short, dark features. Almost ghostly. The only trait the two didn't share is that he was very frail, and sometimes needed his son’s support to stand up straight. The child would be on the sidewalk, staring and pointing at the strange man. Sometimes the parent would rush them away, and my dad would scowl. I'd tell him to calm down, that we'd never see them again, and there was no reason to get worked up.

    Today, I felt like that child. The child who was scared of his face, even though he was quite gentle at heart. I felt like a stranger to him,  _ maybe  _ an acquaintance, but far from the only family member who accepts them.

    He nods in my direction, signifying me to continue.

    “What… was mom like?” I ask, as confidently as I could at the time. Except, it wasn't confident in the slightest. My tone was very soft, quiet, and shaky. It was stupid, really; I just needed to ask a simple question, yet I was close to having an anxiety attack just because of it. I wasn't quite sure why, at that. I knew my dad, he couldn't be  _ that  _ upset, yet for some reason I was afraid of hurting him. Nonetheless, I proceeded. “You never talk about her. I don't know her name, what she was like, anything. Heck, you don't even have any photos of her. I think it's time you fill me in.”

    He sighed, and looked at me. He brushed his bangs out of his face, allowing me to see his pale, grey eyes for the first time today. “Unfortunately, we won't be discussing your mother any time soon. I'm sorry, Eren, but I just can't bring her up.”

    I clenched my fist. I was angry. But why? Once again, the feeling was completely stupid. I knew this would be the answer, he would just scurry around discussing her whenever I ever so slightly tried to bring her up. I taught myself to not be bothered by it, it was life. Although I never quite understood why he wouldn't discuss her, I knew that everybody did things I couldn't comprehend. But today, it made me agitated. Frustrated. Furious.

    “Come on! It's been 14 years since she died, hasn't it? Are you really going to hide this from me forever?” I yelled, standing up from my position. I was shocking myself by the action. I normally never lost myself, and when I did, I would always catch myself right after and apologize. Today, I didn't. I continued to stand there, breathing heavily, shaking with rage. Somewhere, I could hear a soft voice inside me telling me to let it go, but for the first time there was a much louder one telling me to stand my ground, commanding me to follow its orders.

    “Eren, I just said–”

    “No, I don't care! I don't care ‘what you said’ anymore! It's only fair, she's my mother, I deserve to know! Why is it so painstaking for you to tell me?”

     “If you would just sit down and–”

     “Listen? Oh, please. I’ve listened to your lectures all my life! It's the same thing, every time! ‘We can't talk about it now, Eren! Wait until later!’ I’m done with that!”

    His voice was growing more stern. “Eren, please, I'm really not feeling well.”

    “That doesn't matter to me! All you're doing is making excuses about why you won't say anything!”

    It was at this moment that he finally cracked. “You want to hear an excuse? Fine! I'll give you the excuse! I never talk about her because it was her  _ dying  _ wish that I wouldn't burden you about her death!” 

    I calmed down a bit after that, mainly because I didn't know how to respond. I sat back down, and took a deep breath. My body was still shaking, as the adrenaline was still rushing through me. 

    It was silent for a while after that. I could hear my father’s raspy and erratic breathing across from me. Despite his breath always being sort of off like that, this was the worst I've ever heard it. It was so shaky, out of order, and there were long pauses between each exhale and the next inhale.

    Did this make me feel bad? Of course. His health has always been off just a bit (even though it was never bad enough to see a doctor), and me yelling and screaming the way I just did couldn't have been any sort of help. Did I regret it? No. For the first time in my life, I had gotten somewhere. I had gotten  _ answers. _

    “I'm sorry, Eren. I guess, it really is time you hear the story. Listen, now, because I won't repeat this. 

    “Your mother’s name was Carla. She had your last name, too. Carla was one of my best friends, one of my only ones as a whole, at that. She was in a relationship with somebody named Grisha. I couldn't quite remember his significance to her other than her boyfriend, but they were madly in love. A genuine, real love. Neither of us felt anything for each other, that is, until somebody named Hanji hosted a really big 4th of July party at their house, where I ran into Carla there. We hung out most of the night, as Grisha was nowhere to be found. A couple of dances and drinks later, things started to get hazy. A little more alcohol in us, and we were flat out drunk. It was then we, erm, made some stupid decisions, right there in Hanji’s house. Then, nine months later, you came along.

    “We both got kicked out of our homes once our parents found out Carla was pregnant. She dropped out and raised you, and I continued my education and made a living. But then, well, a year later,” he swallowed. “She stabbed herself, in that very kitchen. She felt like she'd be a burden to you, that she failed you, and she couldn't live with herself anymore. The only solution to all of that in her mind was death, so, she ended her life. A pity, too. I was really starting to develop feelings for her, being the mother of my son, after all. I think she was too. She had a nickname for me and everything,” he began to get up and walk down the hall towards his room.

    “Wait, dad,” I called, and he stopped. “What was it?”

    “She didn't want to call me Rivaille all the time, so she called me Levi.”

\------------—

 

    “Levi…” I mutter to myself. I was in my room at this point, sprawled across my bed, staring at my ceiling. “Levi. I've never heard anyone call him anything other than Rivaille before.”

     I didn't know what else to say or think after that. It felt weird going over the information in my head, over and over. I finally knew my mother, and my story. It was confirmed I was an accident, as suspected, but, my parents weren't in love? They were two drunk teenagers at someone’s party? After they found out they were having a baby, why didn’t they leave it? Why didn't dad run away, leaving a single mom to raise me? They weren't in love, they didn't care for each other, yet they were still willing to live and work together, all for the sake of the fact that I could grow up with both my parents? My mind was swirling questions, none of which made sense. They wanted me to grow up with both of them, yet my mother  _ killed  _ herself? Because she was too stupid to drink responsibly a year prior?

    I doubted dad was doing OK after the situation. I really did lash out, and I really did hurt him. Part of me was saying that it was okay, I did what needed to be done, while the other half was screaming at me for acting so impulsively. I didn't know how to feel; I was relieved yet upset at the same time. I didn't understand it, and I wanted it to stop. But it wouldn't. Because a useless guy like me can't turn back time.

**Author's Note:**

> so let me start with this: i don’t think attack on titan is a good show (don’t come for me), but i’m here anyways.
> 
> anywho, this is a shot i’ve been dabbling in for almost a year now, and i think it’s better than the rest of my writing, so i’m just deciding to publish it. it’s not finished, or a proper fic in any way, it’s just something that i’ve been playing with. it’s not organised, and it’s a complete mess.
> 
> if you do think i should write a fic based on this, just leave a comment.
> 
> love ya!


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